


Monster

by Zoya1416



Category: Rivers of London
Genre: Atonement - Freeform, Blood, Blood Magic, Hemomancy, Only a monster, POV Molly, Personhood, depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 16:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12461898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: They asked her to perform the blood magic ritual, and she could not refuse. She closed her eyes, remembering all the blood before.





	Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Molly's view on being used for hemomancy. A few phrases are taken from canon.

When the new wizard explained what he wanted, she felt great sadness that her Master had told him she could perform the blood vision ritual. She had not been asked to do this for a very long time—she did not know how much time, but it was before she came to the Folly, and she'd heard the Master say it was over one hundred years.

She hadn't done it since she'd escaped from the Fairy Queen, or been given or sold away from her. It was hard to remember how she'd come here to this refuge. To the place where she was protected by the cook from the scorn and hatred of the other servants. She could hide her long tongue—she didn't know her mouth was different until the first time she'd killed for the Queen. The man's teeth were not sharp and his tongue was short. It didn't have a flare at the end, like hers and everyone she knew.

She had no idea how she'd been born so ferocious. She'd never known her mother or father, only the Queen. She wondered if she'd come from a woman who'd lain with a bear. Or a lion, or a wolf.

The Queen used her as a killer. It was the Queen's frequent command that she allow a man to bed her and then bite him when he finished. She didn't mind—each man had his own taste to savor. She would rather kill a man than hurt him, but when the Queen asked, she had no choice but to bite. It was then, she knew, that men could see visions through her. She did not know how this happened, but she sensed it. Now she'd been asked to do it again, to help find and put down a monster. Another monster. 

Nightingale never bothered to ask what she did with all the extra food she prepared. Perhaps he knew. After she'd cleared the tables and put the dishes to soak, she pulled the little boxes from her shelves and packed them tight. Sausage, eggs, fried slice, blood pudding, fried tomatoes, kedgeree—her lightest croissants and brioches, and all the rest. Every day she supplied her creations to the soup kitchens for poor people—perhaps it was named differently now, but still the same. No one knew that with every box she whispered, “Atone. Atone. Atone.”

The new wizard stood in the atrium of her refuge and said, “Do it.”

She struck him as hard and fast as she was capable, wrapping herself around him and bearing him to the ground, her thighs clamped hard around his leg. He tasted so sweet and strange. She inhaled the red pepper, palm oil, and onions he always carried, so hot and tangy. There were other spices from the curries he ate—coriander, turmeric, cumin, and fenugreek. When he'd come to the Folly she inhaled all the blend of his scent—these spices and more. Ginger, garlic, cinnamon, and so many kinds of pepper.

When he first moved in, she knew he hated the traditional meals she cooked for Nightingale—heavy stews, suet, lard, potatoes. She could tell when he sneaked away for other meals. He didn't understand—she was trying to change his exotic scent. To be safe, he needed to smell like Nightingale, her Master, the one she trusted. To smell the same as the Folly, soaked in its comforting odors. It didn't matter now. She'd been ordered to bite and bleed him, and she obeyed.

When he dropped into his vision, she let him go, and knelt. It was so tempting to keep going, but she wouldn't let herself. Instead of satisfying her, the blood made her sick, and she began vomiting over her clean tiles. It didn't help to purge herself—now he was sitting up and moving, and his scents floated on the air. She crouched, trying to stop dragging herself toward him.

“Molly, I really don't think this is a good idea.”

A good idea? She sobbed and laughed, hissing. No, eating the Master's apprentice was not a good idea. But they had no idea what they'd asked from her. She crawled forward again.

“You think you're conflicted now. Just think how you'll feel when Nightingale finds out you've had me for dinner.”

Nightingale's name made her pause, but only for a moment. Then her hand slapped down next to the new wizard's legs. He was trying to slide away, but he wasn't going to get far. He was trying to use magic on her, but was too weak to prepare his fireball. She drew her knees up under her and all thinking disappeared. Her mind tunneled down to predator, to a monster who would strike, kill, eat. She opened her mouth wide, as she never did, feeling the air on each one of her sharp teeth. She would bury them in the spicy blood so close to her.

Then the little dog came diving in between her and Peter. That was his name, Peter. The little dog he'd brought home, the little dog who'd enjoyed raw meat with her—he was defending his owner. As had all the other dogs she'd seen, from the great hounds in the Fairy lands, to the mastiffs of other wizards, to this little—toy—barking as though he could kill her, when he'd only make a bite. But he was enough to stop her, and suddenly she knew where she was. She dropped, crouching, and began to sob. Peter left her alone.

I am a monster.

I am a monster.

I am a monster.

Her Master did not think she was—he never had. Peter did not think she was. The smells from his blood said he was frightened, but not disgusted. He hadn't even been angry that she'd tried to kill him. He'd left her alone to recover herself and did not punish her. Maybe she really was not—no. 

I am a monster.

I am a...

I am...

I...

I...

The new wizard was spooked by her, but he still treated her politely. He wondered about who was human and who was a person. He wondered if ghosts were human. Mama Thames was not human, but she was a person. Vampires had been people once. Maybe he thought she...?  


Maybe I am...?  


Maybe I...?  


I...

I am...  


I am...not human.

But...I am a person.


End file.
